


Cursed Connections

by arccie



Series: Misrethog [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Curses, Dogs, Gen, Knights - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Victuuri Big Bang 2017
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-11-22 09:05:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11377008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arccie/pseuds/arccie
Summary: Viktor thinks his life has a more than his fair share of bad luck recently. It’s not like he’s cursed.Oh wait, he is. However, his curse really shouldn’t come with bad fortune. It’s more of a get sick and die sort of thing.Well, at least he’s found a nice dog wandering in the creepy forest to keep him company.Nothing weird about that at all.Misrethog is full of strange animals, but the differences are usually readily apparent. An extra head, a tail that doubles as a projectile knife, perhaps a razor sharp glass exoskeleton. Yet the plain-looking dog in front of him may be just as strange as all the other odd creatures he’s encountered.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the amazing [Piyo13](http://piyo-13.tumblr.com/) for her incredible art that inspired what turned into the longest story I've ever attempted... 
> 
> I'd also like to thank her for stepping in as my beta.
> 
> Check out her art stuff [here](http://piyo13sdoodles.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I'd also like to thank all my other friends and family for cheering me on when I just couldn't see the end and was ready to throw in the towel.
> 
> Unfortunately due to inury and RL I didn't manage to completely this story in time for the reverse bang deadline, but the mod is letting me post what I have completed. I've got 7 chapters completed that I will post over the next few days and hopefully I'll heal quickly and can get the rest of the story completed soon.
> 
> ...I'm never attempting such an epic fic with only a couple of months until the deadline ever again...
> 
> * * *
> 
> Quick trivia for anyone interested: all of the country names are historical, though the geography of this fantasy world doesn't actually match Eurasia

“Buggering, bloody hell,” Viktor swears vehemently, flicking guts and mucus from his sword. 

An encounter with bog toads was not a planned part of his trip. One encounter with the knee high, acid-spitting annoyances in a lifetime was enough to put anyone off ever encountering them again. Unfortunately, Viktor seemed to attract the damn things. Like today for instance, the slimy bastards had decided that this particular section of road was the ideal place to mob passersby.

Once they’d set their sights on Viktor, they’d hopped their hearts out trying to denature him for lunch. They’d refused to hear his very reasonable refusal to be eaten until he’d slaughtered the entire knot.

As a former Knight of Muscovy Viktor is relatively well travelled, he’s journeyed from one battlefield to the next in the name of his King. It’s not quite got the same pizzazz as a bloody battlefield, but the Misrethog region of Persis is only slightly better. Viktor would believe it if someone told him the entire region is cursed. 

Really, the place is an... _incredible_... vacation spot. 

It’s seemingly forever overcast, with Viktor counting maybe twenty days without any cloud cover during the thirteen months he’s been there. Not to mention the eerie and apparently cantankerous Nivera Forest and its antagonistic wildlife pushing up against the Imp-infested Oltsk Mountain Range and the Verhadil Desert. 

Most people believe that the goblin clans had retreated South two hundred years ago due to the rapidly expanding human kingdoms, but no matter what the general consensus, Viktor would bet it was actually just because they got sick of the place. 

At any rate, since it was no longer goblin-claimed territory, the region was opened for human settlement—if they wanted to brave the ecosystem of hostile plants and animals, anyway. 

Humans, being the sensible creatures that they are, poured into the region with vigorous determination. The settlers that followed those first disastrous attempts were more careful. They built their way into the region, laying the foundations for roads and the first human settlements under the guard of hard-eyed men, bristling with weapons.

To ensure some semblance of safe passage for the settlers, the roads were Warded—and when they say Warded, they _mean_ it with a capital "W". Over a hundred years later, and magic-insensitive as he is, Viktor can still feel the wards hum if he lays his ear to any of the stones paving the road. The rest points, established at regular intervals along the road, are even more heavily Warded, which translates to a bone-deep hum whenever Viktor enters them. These spaces, made inviolable by their triple-layered, large Ward stones, are aptly though unimaginatively named Rest Stops, and mean a safe night’s sleep. Safe sleep, in the Misrethog region, is worth some vibrational disturbance.

Of course, with a moderately safe travel route established, along came new settlers, and more and more human settlements, all heavily fortified against the entities that called the region home. 

Still, the Wards on the road, like the walls surrounding the towns, are not an insurmountable defence, and anything determined or stupid enough can challenge them. As a sensible precaution, most people travel in groups. 

Circumstance being what it is, Viktor finds himself travelling the roads alone far too frequently. Which is an absolutely fantastic decision, if one likes putting one's life on the line just to travel from one town to the next. Sure, Viktor might be a bona fide Knight, but near-death experiences in service of King and country are usually associated with the expectation of glory. 

There is absolutely no glory to be had in the Misrethog region.

He casts a disgruntled look at how close the sun is to the horizon. Since the bog toads had been so persistent, it’s taken him most of the afternoon to clear himself a path towards Pasenn. The sensible thing is probably to return to the Rest Stop he’d camped at last night.

Silvery strands whip around his face in the breeze, the hair having managed to escape his tie in the scuffle. Pushing the escaped hair back off his face, he digs out his compass. It’s still pointing vaguely towards Pasenn. If he goes back to last night’s Rest Stop, he’ll have to try this section of road tomorrow. With bog toad corpses strewn about the place it might act as a deterrent to other nearby toad knots, or else (knowing his luck) it could attract something horribly vicious and potentially much more difficult to kill. 

There were rumours floating around Zoiga about weird creature attacks. Whispers around the market that it wasn’t safe in Pasenn now, since something from the Nivera Forest had found its way inside the town’s walls. The rumours had made him even more determined to make his way there as quickly as possible, made him set out on his own rather than wait for a merchant caravan to come through. Wait too long, and, if whatever’s in Pasenn is what he’s hunting, the creature may be gone by the time he makes it there. 

He’d really prefer to continue towards Pasenn. 

He casts another assessing look at the height of the sun.

Maybe he's managed to get further along the road than he'd thought before the bog toad attack.

Decisions, decisions. 

Be sensible and wait another night to continue towards Pasenn, or go on despite the late hour.

Sensible and Viktor don’t always agree, and even when they do, there is the deeply ingrained flaw of his impatience to consider.

Yeah, he’s definitely continuing north towards Pasenn.

If he walks fast enough, surely he can make it the next Rest Stop before dark.

It’s as delightful a walk as always. Gloomy tree follows creepy tree follows gloomy creepy tree, all looming over the road. 

Fate, chance, or maybe the sheer distance he needs to cover means that when dusk strips the trees of their shadows, there’s still no sign of the Rest Stop. To make the situation even better, he could swear that sometime between the bog toads and now, he’s managed to pick up a stalker. Just occasionally he catches a flash of dark fur in the corner of his eye, or sees the swish of disturbed branches. 

In the shadow of the trees, he can’t even work out the number of stalkers he has attracted. Maybe there’s a whole tribe of them skulking around the edges of the forest, observing his lonely walk. Definitely just what he needs to brighten up his already wonderful day.

Foolhardy as he is sometimes, he doesn’t contemplate trying to continue through the night. The sky is typically overcast, and without some moonlight to lighten the dark, the uneven road is an injury waiting to happen.

If he’s going to be a sitting duck for whatever is stalking him, he’d much rather retain the advantage of four functioning limbs.

The trees crowd close to the edge of the road, and he has an easy choice between laying out his bedroll in the middle of the road, or trying to sleep sitting upright against the nearest tree, so that he has something at his back when the attack inevitably comes. With his current run of bad decisions, he really should lay out his bedroll, but he’s not yet reached that level of stupid, so instead he pokes at the nearest tree, checking for possible carnivorous impulses. Its presence at his back will offer him minimal protection, but at this point, anything is better than nothing. 

Throwing his pack down he digs out some dry rations to eat standing up, hand hovering over the hilt of his sword. There’s no sign of anything nearby, just the usual chittering night-time calls of the abundant bird-like vulks that can bleed a man to death within minutes. What a lovely thought to try to go to sleep with...

After a final, wary glance, he unbuckles his sword and settles on the ground, back firm against the tree trunk. His sword is carefully laid out within easy reach.

Bedding down is as simple as dragging a blanket over himself.

It’s far from comfortable, and an even further cry from the comforts that would be on offer if he’d never left the Nikiforov Estate. Of course, if he were still at the Nikiforov Estate, he’d be under his mother’s thumb, learning the duties of being the heir to a proud and noble, albeit minor, Lord.

At least out here, he’s certain that whatever tries to kill him won’t be doing it because of a feud, perpetuated generations past anyone who actually remembers what caused it in the first place.

Viktor eyes his surroundings suspiciously. 

Fairly certain, anyway.

Eventually, exhaustion drags his eyelids down, no matter how wary he is of what might be waiting for him in the forest.

* * *

_At the age of eight Viktor attempts to run away from the Nikiforov Estate. He’s got a dream – no, a destiny—of knighthood awaiting him. There are adventures to be had, monsters to be slain and strangely helpless members of royalty to be saved. He just needs to escape the strictures of being the Nikiforov heir to achieve it._

_He doesn’t make it very far since he runs into a nest of spiders the size of his head. His resulting shrieks of horror alert the entire household and he buries his tear-covered face in his father’s shoulder as he's carried home._

_The failed attempt doesn’t deter him (though it does ensure he never goes anywhere near that particular section of woods ever again), just makes him put a bit more forethought into his next attempt. The next attempt still fails, unfortunately, but at least he didn’t encounter any more spiders._

_Over the years, his plans get more elaborate, and his parents more unimpressed. They punish his failures, but he’s willing to suffer through anything to achieve his dream. Although removing his dessert privileges shakes his determination, he endures._

_His mother organises his Aunt to take charge of his studies, which leaves him little time to escape. The only bright side is that she’s the best swordsman around and she rewards his cooperation with training bouts. She still forces him to memorise all ten generations of the Nikiforov genealogy and all the subsequent ten generations of Nikiforov enemies._

_With the copious number of blood feuds sworn against the Nikiforov line, Viktor thinks his parents should be pushing him out the door to become a knight. Being one of the best warriors in the kingdom could actually help ensure his ongoing survival. (Really Great to the nth Uncle Vlad? You didn’t learn anything when the first blood feud was declared because you dallied with another Lord’s son? You had to repeat it another eight times?)_

_But Viktor's persistence pays off, and his father organises for him to meet Knight Commander Yakov._

_Looking him over with hard eyes and lips pursed, Knight Commander Yakov grunts noncommittally. It’s not the unreserved acceptance Viktor was hoping for, but then again the Knight Commander isn’t as impressive as he was expecting. He’d imagined the Knight Commander would be someone larger than life, emitting an impressive aura of danger that ensured no one stepped within a dozen paces of him. Instead, he stands only a little taller than Viktor at the age of twelve, and in his riding clothes he appears entirely unimpressive. Nothing about him suggests he’s one of the most fearsome Knights of Muscovy and if he didn’t know who he was, Viktor would think him another elderly Lord his parents are acquainted with._

_Still, Viktor finds himself trembling underneath the Knight Commander's stare. Whatever his appearance, the Knight Commander represents Viktor’s opportunity to achieve his dream of knighthood._

_The Knight Commander runs a hand through his greying hair, shooting a glare over Viktor’s shoulder towards his parents before shaking his head and growling, “Get your sword, boy. Show me what you can do.”_

_Viktor looks to his mother for permission, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. His stomach sinks when he sees his mother glaring angrily at the Knight Commander, face stiff and unyielding, but before she can sink his dreams his father catches hold of her elbow._

_“Sofia,” he murmurs, just loud enough for Viktor to hear, “let him try.”_

_His mother’s anger switches targets and she glares at his father. Holding his breath, Viktor waits for his mother’s decision. Eventually her shoulders sag, and her head dips in acquiescence, silvery hair falling forward to cover her face. She sends a servant for Viktor’s training gear and he bites his tongue to prevent himself from crowing with delight as he follows._

_When he returns, there is a chilly silence lingering between his parents and the Knight Commander, so he aborts his forward charge and enters as sedately as possible, given his galloping heart. He doesn’t look at his mother as he presents himself before the Knight Commander once more and allows himself only the briefest glance at his father. The warmth in his father’s dark eyes and the encouraging nod allow him to transform his nerves into determination under the Knight Commander’s heavy gaze._

_He can’t help the grin that forms when the man grunts and gestures him outside._

_Finally, his chance to prove himself..._

_A thrill of excitement shoots through him as he steps into the training yard, the place feeling entirely different from usual. Although his Aunt has run him through a few sword drills in the training yard every week, there was never such a tangible sense of anticipation in the sound of dirt crunching beneath his feet or the heft of a sword in his hand._

_When Yakov steps inside the training yard, he accepts only a practice sword, not bothering with any of the other equipment on offer. The Knight Commander swings the sword experimentally before grunting in approval and stepping further into the yard. Viktor's parents stand off to the side, his mother’s silvery hair shining in the sun beside his father’s gleaming blond curls. Even though his mother objects vehemently to the very idea of Viktor becoming a knight, their presence acts to bolster his resolve. His mother hopes to console his failure, while his father will support Viktor whatever the outcome._

_With sword in hand and staring Viktor down across the small space of the training yard, Knight Commander Yakov no longer looks like just another elderly man. His blue eyes study Viktor coolly; the intensity of that gaze sends a jolt of alarm down Viktor’s spine. Everything about him is screaming danger, and Viktor is standing across the yard pointing a sword at him._

_Licking at his suddenly dry lips, Viktor takes a deep breath to steady his hand, breathing out the quiver in his limbs. Just because Yakov is everything he expected of the Knight Commander is no reason to let fear destroy this opportunity._

_Viktor is moving as soon as the Knight Commander signals the start of the bout, lunging forward to try and use speed to get around the man’s guard. The knight is prepared for Viktor’s swift attack, easily side-stepping the point of his sword. While Viktor is off-balance the Knight Commander brings the flat of his blade round to smack hard across Viktor’s shoulder blade, sending Viktor tumbling to the ground._

_“Too slow!” Yakov barks harshly, as though that isn’t obvious to Viktor. “Again!”_

_Viktor hauls himself to his feet, ignoring his scraped and faintly stinging hands and tries again. He’s a bit more careful this time, and tries a few cautious swipes that the Knight turns aside effortlessly. The clash of their blades sounds dull beneath the blood pounding in his ears, and his breath hisses between his teeth as he focuses on the darting shine of the Knight Commander’s sword._

_He’s allowed a dozen or so testing strokes before the Knight steps into Viktor’s guard and knocks his feet out from under him. The dirt stings his already scraped hands, but he’s already halfway to his feet when the Knight Commander growls, “Again.”_

_So Viktor does it again. And again. And again._

_Totally thrashed, with a handful of small wounds from his many falls, the nervous flutter of anticipation transforms into leaden disappointment. His chance at his dream...and all he’s doing is proving himself unworthy._

_Biting his lip to the point of pain he forces himself to his feet when the Knight Commander knocks him down again. Everything, from his toes to his fingers, aches. His arms throb from holding his sword up, muscles twitching in protest of their continued use while his hands tingle from the repeated impact of their swords._

_It’s all he can do to try and shuffle his way around the Knight Commander’s strokes, sword dipping and swaying as he tries to keep the point up between every clash of their blades. The knight telegraphs his sweep and it’s a basic move to step out of the way, but Viktor stumbles as his feet refuse to cooperate with the rest of his body. He twists so he doesn’t take the sword stroke straight on, but since he’s already unbalanced he manages to slam his cheek into the rough edge of the Knight Commander's borrowed sword as he goes down._

_His knees slam hard into the dirt, adding what will be a new set of bruises to his collection. Gulping in air, he lets himself have a moment to breathe, squeezes his eyes shut to deny the moisture gathering in his eyes. He refuses to look towards his parents as he struggles to his feet once more. Can’t bear to see what they think of his poor performance._

_Viktor is covered in dirt, battered and fighting for breath while Knight Commander Yakov hasn’t even worked up a sweat. He looks bored and ready to be done with this farce of a demonstration._

_It’s obvious that Viktor has failed this test. He’s barely managing to stay standing, let alone land a hit on the Knight Commander._

_Even if he has failed...even if his dream of being a knight is beyond his reach..._

_Viktor is going to make Yakov bleed for tearing apart his dreams._

_Swiping his hand across his face and dashing the tears from his eyes, he ignores the red smear that spreads across his sleeve. Glaring at his opponent, he steadies his trembling knees and takes hold of the hilt of his sword with both hands to keep it upright._

_Viktor bares his teeth. “Again.”_

_He braces for the blow that is surely coming, but instead of slamming Viktor to the ground again, Yakov drops his sword to the side._

_“You’ll do,” he grunts._

_Uncomprehending, Viktor maintains his grip on his sword and just stares at the Knight Commander._

_Knight Commander Yakov snorts. “I can train anyone to wield a sword. It takes determination for someone to continue to pick up a sword when they realise just how beaten they are. It’s that sort of resolve I want in a knight. The determination to swing their sword, one more time, even in the face of inevitable death.”_

_Knight Commander Yakov claps him on the shoulder and heads towards Viktor’s parents._

_Swaying where he stands, Viktor lets his sword drop and gradually collapses to his knees. He covers his face, but doesn’t try to stop his tears. Knight Commander Yakov’s words make his heart feel light in his chest, but mixed with his exhaustion, the overall feeling is more one of relief than of happiness._

_He did it._

_He’s going to be a knight._

X-x-X-x-X


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small update...

Howling cuts through the chill night air, and has him reaching for his sword as he lunges to his feet. His heart leaps to his throat, each beat pounding in his ears.

The dark night sky has transformed into pre-dawn shades of grey, suggesting he got a lot more sleep than he was expecting. It also highlights the shape of a couple of raevs prowling across the road. They’re moving rather slowly, but the road's Wards don’t seem to be deterring them much.

An absolutely delightful thing to wake up to, possibly only topped by adding bog toads at this point.

Raevs are grotesque beasts, appearing to be a cross between a wolf and a rat, buck teeth and massively muscled shoulders topped off by a dexterous, whip-like tail. They’re hellishly aggressive pack animals, to the point of stupidity at times. In his past encounters with them, their over-eager attacks have been all that have ensured Viktor’s survival. Previously, he’d had plans and some preparation in his favour. Now, he’s got minimal light and sleep deprivation working against him.

He takes a deep breath, angling his sword carefully. 

Could be worse odds. He could have lost his sword, after all.

The smallest raev launches onto the point of his sword, and he throws his dagger into the face of the next one while he pulls his sword from the body of the first. A chorus of snarls reward his first kill, and the pack splits, retreating from his direct line of sight, but the sounds lead him to think there’s probably only another four raevs circling him in the gloom. Though not necessarily stupid, the fact that their angry snarls continue to give away their location doesn’t seem to occur to them. It’s a fairly small pack, so his odds of survival might be better than anticipated.

Most of the snarls are concentrated on his left side, coming in from his blind side then. Good for them, they can see his eye patch. It won’t help them much. He was pretty good at fighting blindfolded before his injury and he’s had months to get used to his restricted field of view. Even better, he’s had months to practise compensating for the loss.

Viktor lunges forward and sweeps his sword low and round to cleave into the flanks of two raevs rushing him from the sides. Another lunges over the body of its fallen pack members, and Viktor just barely manages to get his sword up in time. He stabs deep into its chest cavity, and it’s dead before it hits the ground. The awkward stab, paired with bad luck, sees the creature's death throes snatch the sword from his hand. 

If Yakov were here, he’d chew Viktor out for that until his ears rang for days. As Yakov isn’t here, and there’s at least one more raev out there while Viktor is currently without his primary weapon, he may be in a bit of trouble.

Eye straining to catch even a flicker of movement, he tries to retrieve his sword, but it’s firmly lodged in the dead raev. His eye flicks down to assess the situation, and the last raev picks that moment to attack with a wheezing roar. 

_Fuck!_

Viktor rolls out of the way of its charge, and unfortunately it just manages to avoid a head-first collision with a tree. A moment’s breathing space to retrieve his sword would be fantastic right now, but the raev is quick to turn and face him again. It’s the one he caught with his dagger at the start of the fight, and it’s bleeding copiously. Well, he can have the cold comfort that even if it _does_ kill him, the wound will probably be fatal.

He’s trying to decide between retreating and attempting another run to recover his sword when the beast springs forward, reducing his options. He dives, desperately hoping he at least manages to stay clear of its jaws. Yet instead of the weight of its body and the sharp bite of its teeth, he hears a bit-off yelp and completes the manoeuvre unhindered.

Breathing hard, he spins in place, already planning his next move to avoid the raev’s teeth, but there’s no need.

Something else has its jaws clenched tight on the raev’s throat. The raev struggles, a gasping whine escaping its injured throat, but quickly starts to go limp in the creature’s hold. It’s hard to tell with so little light, but Viktor thinks it might be a wolf. He squints at the shape. Maybe a dog.

Whatever the creature is, it saved him from a debilitating injury, if not a potentially mortal wound. Still, that doesn’t mean he’s necessarily safe from it. He edges carefully around it to where his sword is still protruding from the raev’s corpse. 

The dog-like animal watches him the entire time, but it doesn’t look like it's making any aggressive moves, and as soon as he manages to free his sword from the raev’s body, the animal takes off.

As the silence continues and his unexpected saviour remains gone, Viktor's heartbeat gradually slows. Eventually, he trusts the silence enough to sheathe his sword. 

If he were to allow himself to be whimsical, he’d almost think it had waited for Viktor to be able to defend himself before leaving. More likely, it realised that, armed with a sword, Viktor wouldn't be worth the fight.

No matter the actual reason, it’s the first being he’s encountered in the last couple of days that didn’t actually try to eat him. Viktor’s allowed to have a soft spot for it.

The fact that it’s at least vaguely dog-shaped and he misses Makkachin dreadfully has nothing to do with it.

Nothing at all.

He leaves part of a hob of cheese behind because he’s grateful. That’s all.

* * *

_Being a knight is not much like Viktor expected. There’s very little in the way of adventure to be had, and the roaming is generally all done en masse with all the other knights around to trample everything in their path. His memories of the places he’s been are usually bloody and filled with the moans of the dying._

_The only royalty he’s met deserved whatever harm might befall them, and more besides. If he'd been a more stoic individual who didn't show his feelings on his face he probably would have been knighted a whole year earlier. While Yakov forces him to hold his tongue, it takes a lot of practice to school his face to prevent how he feels about King Novgorod from showing on his face whenever he's in the King's presence.  
Still, despite his distaste for many aspects of being a Knight of Muscovy, Viktor's skill with a sword gets him recognition. The cheers of the crowd as he defeats knight after knight in the sword ring are common-place. It’s a more enjoyable way of acknowledging his skill than surviving another unnecessary and bloody battle, even if surviving the battlefield is more important._

_Of course, his skills are punished with added responsibilities, and Yakov forces him to take the title of Knight Captain when Knight Captain Galina retires to her estate. These days, when he’s not in the training yard, he’s huddled with Yakov trying to decide on tactics for King Novgorod’s next attempt to expand the Kingdom. A wonderful bonding experience that has Yakov throwing him out on his ear almost every time when he gets sick of Viktor's mocking, albeit helpful, suggestions._

_Viktor possibly celebrates a bit too loudly when he’s given leave to plan a mission to survey the Misrethog region of Persis for its possible, extremely well-hidden, not-even-been-rumoured-at, abundance of resources. Not that it will matter much what Viktor finds, since King Novgorod will use the slimmest excuse to satisfy his hunger for conquest and battle._

_Still, Viktor has a plan. Unfortunately, Knight Commander Yakov objects to his plan. Not that Viktor cares all that much about things that Yakov hates, since Yakov hates a lot of things Viktor does. Including, but not limited to, his use of a dagger in his non-dominant hand rather than a shield. Yakov likes to spout off about showboating nonsense, but as the five-time winner of the annual Muscovy Tourney with said showboating nonsense, Viktor feels like he’s winning that argument, at least._

_Right, Viktor has a plan. An_ amazing _plan, in fact. A small group (composed of only Viktor and a couple of other knights) will travel to the Misrethog region and, with great discretion, check the place out. If he wants to take Mila because she’s fun and Georgi because he’s unlikely to disagree with any of Viktor’s plans, well, that’s beside the point._

_Really, Georgi could probably use a change of scenery, anyway. He just hasn’t been the same since his familiar decided to move onto a new Witch. When Viktor first heard of Anya’s departure, he’d been surprised there was even another Witch around for her to bond with— it's a bit of an old-fashioned moniker these days, since most magic-users choose more gender neutral terms such as Mage to describe themselves. Georgi is especially strange with his chosen title, considering its female connotations, but Georgi’s mother was a Witch and his grandmother was a Witch and if all his ancestors were Witches then Georgi is going to be a Witch, too. Viktor believes Georgi must have been pretty young when he came to_ that _decision._

_The most significant thing about his choice of companions, though, is that they’re talented warriors of Muscovy. Mila is a horror to face in battle; the effortless swings of her morning star frequently accompanied by her berserker laugh. Georgi was the most powerful Witch in Muscovy while Anya was his familiar, and even without her, he’s the most experienced battlefield magic-user in the Kingdom._

_Yakov’s first argument had been that they were maligning Mila’s virtue by having her to travel alone with two men and no chaperone. After Viktor suggested Yakov actually say that to Mila’s face, Yakov proved that even if he was stubborn, he wasn't an idiot, and dropped that line of complaint entirely._

_Then it was the fact that Viktor was clearly not planning to take the mission seriously. As Viktor often took very little except his swordplay seriously, this wasn’t really much of an argument. It didn’t even deserve a response._

_As a final, winning argument, Yakov went to the King, and now Viktor was not taking a couple of friends adventuring, he was travelling with eight knights and a ridiculous purple wagon for camouflage. At least he manages to include Mila and Georgi._

_Still, he’s not sure whether Yakov realises that most of the noble-born knights don’t know how to blend in to save their lives. But, orders are orders, and a Royal decree is hard to argue with if you like your head attached to your body._

X-x-X-x-X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter in a couple of days...


	3. Chapter 3

Whatever feeling of good will he felt towards his animal saviour has been swallowed up by irritation by the time the sun has risen above the horizon. 

One glimpse of fur between the trees is a coincidence.

Twice is a stalker.

He really regrets leaving it the cheese.

Viktor is confident in his ability to fight off the animal, should it come to that, but the constant threat, the waiting, is wearing at his nerves. He finds himself shouting at it, as though that will deter whatever is stalking him.

“I’m really very good with a sword! Don’t think that this morning’s fumble means I’m easy pickings,” he shouts in the direction that he notices the sway of disturbed branches.

Later, when he thinks he spots dark eyes watching him from the edge of the forest, he hollers, “Just because you saved me from that raev doesn’t mean I’m grateful enough to let you eat me!”

A bit further down the road, he directs his shouting towards the most recent glimpse of fur between the trees. “You’re very persistent, I’ll give you that. If you weren’t potentially a ravenous beast, I’d be flattered.” He tops this off with a flirtatious toss of his hair, laughing at himself as he does so. 

Even if the shouting hasn't dissuaded the creature from following him, it makes Viktor feel better about the situation. After all, it’s only mad if he actually expects an answer from the animal. Deter

The sun is just past its zenith when Viktor spots the tall Warding stones of a Rest Stop off in the distance. He picks up his pace, eagerly anticipating losing his stalker and the associated itch between his shoulders. A decent night’s sleep, even after last night’s debacle, is just a bonus at this point. 

Rest Stops are rather strange spaces—large, almost circular open areas with a few large stones pushing up from the ground beside the road. The shapes of each Rest Stop almost make it seem like the forest retreated from the presence of the Ward stones, rather than a clearing made by human hands.

He can feel the Ward’s sphere of influence as soon as he crosses the invisible boundary, an inaudible vibration rising up from the soles of his feet. Dropping his pack beside the largest of the three ward stones, he does a quick circuit of the area. There’s the usual small lean-to full of firewood, just big enough for a person to shelter under if it rains and a small stream crossing the edge of the Rest Stop. Looks like he'll be able to refill his water skins and maybe wash up a little.

With last night’s disturbed rest, he’d like nothing more than to roll into his bedroll and catch a few hours' sleep, but if he wants something better than hard bread and cheese to eat he’ll need to catch himself something for dinner. 

He’s cautious leaving the Rest Stop and stepping into the trees. Knowing his luck, there's probably a pack of raevs hanging around just outside the Wards.

He doesn’t go too far into the forest, just to the point where the canopy starts to thicken and cut down the light penetrating through the trees. There’s little understorey, so his traps are simple things baited with a few pungent berries that look delicious but are seemingly poisonous to all but the creatures of the Misrethog. Nivera Forest has few animals that aren’t toxic to humans, so it can be a bit hard to catch edible fresh meat on the road. If he’s extremely lucky, he might get one of the rare species of rabbit that inhabit the region, but it’s much more likely he’ll end up with one of the abundant species of lizard that seem to be in every nook and cranny. They’re not as tasty as rabbit, but it's still better than another meal from his travel rations.

What he wouldn’t give for a tasty rabbit for dinner...

As soon as he lays the last trap, he retreats to the Rest Stop, picking up a few branches that seem suitable for firewood along the way. No use pushing his luck by remaining outside the Wards any longer than he has to.

Viktor has many talents, but getting a campfire burning is not one of them. Getting the fire going is always a significant achievement for him. Struggling with the flint stones makes him miss Georgi all the more; with an easy flick of his fingers, Georgi would have had a roaring fire lit in moments. 

Of course, Viktor could use Mila's preferred fire-building shortcut, but dousing the wood in liquor usually resulted in a roaring bonfire that left singed eyebrows in its wake. Viktor is facially impaired enough with his eye-patch, he's not sure if his good looks would survive the lack of eyebrows. Not to mention it's a waste of good liquor.

Upon defeating the challenge posed by the fire pit and the wood that refused to stay lit, he digs out his cook pot to get some water boiling.

Checking the compass as he waits, he glares at the needle, still steadily pointing north. The hexbeast might be over the next hill, or a hundred leagues away. He hasn’t seen hide nor hair of it for thirteen months, after all. Scrubbing harshly at his face while carefully avoiding his eye-patch, he returns the compass to his pocket.

Now’s not the time to be wallowing in his lack of progress.

By the time he’s managed to refill his water skins and scrub some of the dirt from his face, the sun is just beginning to sink behind the horizon. Hopefully it’s been long enough that his traps have caught him some dinner, or it will be another meal of travel rations.

He leaves the Rest Stop with his sword drawn. Anything in his traps will be welcome dinner for everything else in the forest, as well.

The first trap is empty, and unfortunately, the second is as well. Something has managed to escape with the berries without setting off the trap. The taste of disappointment wars with the imaginary taste of meat in direct mockery of the empty snares. 

The last two traps erase the disappointment instantly. A struggling lizard is waiting in each trap, long tails whipping side to side while their heads pull against the snares' wire as they fight to withdraw into their shells. Amazingly, they’re not even one of the toxic species. Maybe all the bad luck in the past few days has earned him some good luck in this endeavour.

Viktor is practically salivating as he beheads them.

Except, it seems he celebrates his good fortune too soon. His neck tingles with unease. 

Whipping his sword up, he scans the surrounding area, managing almost a full circle before he notices light glinting off a pair of eyes, peering out at him from behind a nearby tree trunk. Breath seizing in his lungs, he freezes in place.

It's too dark to make out any other details, but those eyes look hungry to Viktor.

Tightening his grip on his sword, he exhales shakily.

He’s not far from the edge of the Rest Stop, so it’s an easy choice to make between standing his ground and retreating to safety. Moving slowly backwards, he flicks quick glances to either side, to check for possible ambush, but it appears there’s only one creature eyeing him and his dinner.

He stops his retreat when he is beside the fire near the centre of the Rest Stop, Wards humming around him. No aggressive creature can cross the Rest Stop's boundary Ward. He’s safe. He knows he’s safe, but it takes him a long moment to pull his eyes from the shadowy forest. 

Safe, he reminds himself, throwing the lizards down by the fire and reaching for an old knife to start prying at their shells. Gradually, his spine stops prickling with wary nervousness. He’s practically humming in anticipation by the time he manages to remove the lizards' shells. The grey tinge of their meat is visually unappetising, and without spices or the like, they won't be a gourmet feast, but they'll be tender meat he can tear into.

Dirt crunches nearby, and Viktor spins around, heart hammering in his ears. The dark eyes of earlier clear the edge of the forest, and the light thrown by his campfire illuminates his near heart-attack. The animal steps easily past the boundary of the Rest Stop and sits down. It takes him a moment to release the death grip he has on the hilt of his sword.

Its wagging tail thumps gently on the ground, throwing up smalls puffs of dirt. 

Viktor is certain it's the same beast that saved his life this morning. Seeing it up close, even just by the light of his campfire, he realises it is not dog-like at all. 

It _is_ a dog.

It...

Viktor angles his head to study the dog. 

_He_ is large and brown, with a hunting dog’s pointed nose and large, fluffy ears. A gorgeous looking dog, though not quite as beautiful as his Makkachin. 

It doesn’t appear particularly vicious which is what Viktor would expect of a dog that managed to take down the raev this morning and survive the Nivera Forest, seemingly without injury, for at least a day. Dogs aren’t even all that common in the Misrethog, and to have one journeying through the forest on its own is definitely strange.

Still, it's a dog...

Standing up, he holds his hands away from his weapons.

“Well now dog, it seems you've been stalking me,” Viktor says conversationally and the dog’s tail wags faster at the sound of Viktor’s voice. “Showing you’re friendly, huh?” 

The large ears twitch forward and the dog lowers itself to its belly.

It’s partially longing for his own dog, combined with curiosity about the dog’s possible owner that has him approaching the dog, hand out for it to sniff. He gets within a couple of paces of it before it sits up, shying away from him. Viktor backs off immediately, returning to the fire. No visible tags or collar amongst that fluffy coat, and he's not going to chance the dog lashing out in fear to check more closely. 

When he’s far enough away, the dog returns to its previous position, but its tail lies flat and still on the ground. Ears pricked forward as it watches Viktor with dark eyes. 

He talks to the dog as he goes back to preparing his dinner and gradually the dog's large ears relax, the tail swishing occasionally to complement the rising octave of whatever Viktor's saying.

“You know, you had me thinking you were going to try and eat me,” he says as he skewers the lizards. “Maybe you shouldn’t suddenly appear out of the shadows if you don’t want people to think badly of you, Mr Stalker. Actually, why were you in the forest alone in the first place?” 

Predictably, the dog gives no response to Viktor’s question.

It doesn’t take long for the scent of roasting lizard to start wafting from the campfire. The meat must smell as good to the dog as it does to Viktor, since it inches forward on its belly, whining softly.

He points a stern finger at the animal. “These are mine. Go and catch your own dinner if you want something to eat.”

The dog sinks its head onto the ground, ears drooping sadly at Viktor’s refusal. 

Before long, the delicious scent is too much for Viktor, and he yanks the skewers out of the fire. He pokes at them impatiently while waiting for them to cool. As soon as the meat fails to burn his fingers he bites into it, groaning in delight.

A sad whine echoes his groan, and the dog is staring at him with dark, soulful eyes. Shaking his head at himself, Viktor breaks off the lizard’s front legs and throws them to the dog. He is such a soft touch for soulful eyes, especially when attached to a dog.

“Yeah, I’m a total sucker,” he grumbles as the dog wolfs them down in two bites.

He refuses to be taken in by those eyes again, and carefully avoids looking in the dog’s direction as it whines pitifully while he wraps the second lizard up for tomorrow. An indignant bark follows the disappearance of the lizard into the depths of his bag and Viktor chuckles softly.

“I am going to sleep, Mr Stalker. Don’t go digging in my bag for some more lizard, as it's magical and likely to give you a nasty shock if you try.”

The dog huffs, falling onto its side, seemingly giving up on scamming more food out of Viktor. Not entirely trusting its uncaring pose, Viktor tugs his bag in close as he readies himself for sleep. 

Warm and horizontal, sleep takes him almost immediately.

* * *

_Travelling in the Misrethog region, it quickly becomes apparent that it’s part of the Kingdom of Persis on maps only. Each town has their own independent guard, but their jurisdiction basically ends at the wall of the town. There are no soldiers or administrators from the Kingdom of Persis, there aren’t even any tax collectors here in the name of the King of Persis._

_His first act when he realises that their disguise is a waste of time is to try and dump the stupid purple wagon but Alexei, a rather stiff older knight, won’t let him. Just because the wagon is part of their "disguise commanded by the King". Like that’s an acceptable reason to do anything._

_It’s not even a_ good _disguise. If there were Persis agents in the area, they’d have to be blind, deaf and oblivious_ not _to recognise Viktor’s group for what they were. They’re supposed to be a small merchant group but they never try to sell anything, and everyone except Georgi wanders around with their chainmail rattling, fingering the hilts of their swords._

_At least they've stopped drawing their swords at the slightest provocation and there hasn't been a repeat of Marina's humiliating attempt at what she thought was polite peasant slang. (Hint: it wasn't.)_

_He makes sure to compliment their attempts at blending in each night. It’s not sarcastic to praise their efforts if he genuinely thinks they're doing the best he can hope for._

_They’re a country away from King Novgorod and Knight Commander Yakov, who wouldn’t know if they’d dumped it or if it had somehow caught on fire. Actually... No. Better not. Alexei would definitely report him if he set the wagon alight._

_As for their mission... Well..._

_The Misrethog region is, as expected, entirely devoid of hidden caches of resources. It barely takes a week of travelling through the area to work this out. The people are living comfortably off the land. 'Comfortably', if you only account for their ability to feed themselves, and not the encroaching horror of living in a place where everything seems to want to kill you._

_Sure, the Wards and high walls offer some safety, but a lot of people still manage to disappear. Outside each town's guardhouse, crying families post notes about their missing loved ones. In every town they've passed through so far, the notes have covered an entire wall of the guardhouse._

_Viktor may have reason to be glad of the extra manpower Yakov forced onto him, after all._

_While he’s sure that he can absolutely, and legitimately report to King Novgorod that the Misrethog region holds no riches worth going to war over, Viktor is enjoying himself more than he has since Yakov forcibly promoted him to Knight Captain. Sure, Georgi is still moaning about his lost Anya at every turn and Mila refuses to let Viktor win a drinking contest, but it’s also exciting. Every day an adventure awaits him, with a whole bunch of previously unknown critters to test his sword skills on._

_So if Viktor isn’t in a hurry to return to Muscovy and decides that he needs to travel the entire length of the road through the Misrethog region, well, he’s just being thorough and serious about his job. Yakov’s always telling him to be more serious, and now seems like the perfect time to follow Yakov’s instructions._

_X-x-X-x-X_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so there's progress...
> 
> At least the dog has showed up properly.
> 
> Doggo! :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. Sorry for the delay in updating. Work slammed me hard and I didn't have the energy for editing.
> 
> As penance, I bring you more Viktor and dog.

Morning arrives with weighted limbs that feel too heavy to lift, and the dragging sensation of fatigue despite getting a full night’s sleep. Fighting against the urge to curl up and ignore the sunlight peeking out from between the clouds, Viktor struggles his way upright anyway. It takes all his focus to sit up. His blanket pools around his waist, keeping his legs warm while the morning's chill curls around his upper body, sending a shiver down his spine. 

Eye wandering hazily around the Rest Stop he realises that he's the only one inhabiting the space. 

The dog is gone. _Of course._

Viktor tries to convince himself that he’s not disappointed. It’s not as if he was thinking about bribing the animal with lizard meat so he could have some company while he ate his own morning meal. That would be entirely pathetic, and Viktor is still only _somewhat_ pathetic. 

Tears prick at his eyes, and he’s just so exhausted that misery grips at his throat.

Being sad and lonely is much easier to give free reign to when there’s no one there to see it. No one there to see if he can’t be bothered to find something to eat. No one to prod him into moving out as soon as possible. It’s just Viktor, his miserable life and his unending quest.

He knows it's all part and parcel of the curse, but that doesn't make it any easier.

Recognising the extreme exhaustion and the related downward shift in his mood for what it is doesn't make it any less debilitating. It doesn't make his exhaustion and depression any less real. Nor does it make him more able to pass it off and get over it just because it's a side effect of the curse. 

His hand digs into his pocket on automatic, flicking open the compass to confirm the needle’s still pointing north. It is, but the usual swell of determination he feels at the reminder of his quest fails to rise.

Knuckling at his eyes, he takes one deep breath after another, until each breath stops straining at his chest. There's no one here to pick him up and push him on. There's just Viktor and whatever determination he can manage to scrounge up from the depths of himself.

Eventually he manages to motivate himself enough to dig through his bag and pull out a vial filled with dark green liquid. Choking down the viscous fluid, he gives himself to the count of ten to get himself to his feet before hunting for his water skin to wash the taste of swamp out of his mouth.

The elixir is a stop-gap measure to tide him over until he can find a mage capable of sharing energy. Unfortunately, if his memory isn’t failing him, the nearest mage is almost a week’s journey from his current location. Pasenn does at least have a decent apothecary that makes better elixirs than the current batch he picked up in Shesho.

It’s slow, but by the time he packs all his gear and straps on his sword, the weight of his feelings has diminished. Not disappeared, but it becomes less of a pressure bearing him under. He's tired, but not weary to the bone.

By the time the morning fog has burnt off, he’s striding along almost merrily. Or as merrily as he manages, these days. He’s also certain he has a follower, and a familiar one at that. All it takes is one almost-clear view of the creature making all the noise to confirm it.  
For a moment he considers ignoring it entirely, still too tired to get worked up about a dog. Even one that's stalking him. Viktor doesn't need to put himself in the way of whatever issue the dog has with his company. But the more he thinks about it...the longer the feeling of being watched continues, the more offended he feels by the dog's decision to avoid his company. It's at least partially wistfulness, but the irritation is easier for him to feel right now.

Viktor stops, hands on his hips.

“What? Do you not want to be seen with me or something?” he shouts in frustrated annoyance.

There is, unsurprisingly, no response. He may be being slightly ridiculous, but indignation feeds into anger until it's bubbling throughout his chest. 

“If you were just using me for my lizard meat you can just move right along. I don’t have to put up with you creeping on me, even if you are a dog.” He’s not actually sure what he can do to drive the dog away, but it turns out he doesn’t need to work it out. The dog comes slinking out of the forest, head lowered and ears flat, almost as though it's ashamed.

It stops, sitting down a few paces away from where Viktor is standing, and completely avoids looking at him. Viktor waits. He should probably be able to out-stubborn a dog, but as the sun continues to rise higher in the sky, he realises that while he might win, he’d be stuck here until the beast gave in and looked at him.

Throwing his hands up in disgust, Viktor walks away from the dog. Ten steps down the road, he turns to look over his shoulder at the still seated animal.

“Well, are you coming or not?”

Its ears perk up and its tail beats a heavy rhythm on the road’s surface.

“I’m not going to ask again,” Viktor says and continues walking since the road won't walk itself.

This means he’s nearly bowled over as the dog bounds past him, practically undercutting his left leg.

“Really?” he complains to the dog but it merely looks at him with bright eyes and lolling tongue. He swears it’s laughing at him.

He follows it anyway, since it seems they’re going in the same direction.

Travelling doesn’t seem as arduous with the dog to keep him company, even if it refuses to play fetch with him and the conversation is decidedly one-sided.

He doesn’t _need_ to fill the silence, but he prefers to drown out the thoughts that chase themselves around his brain. The unending repetition of _'cursed. you're cursed'_ isn't the most uplifting internal monologue, after all, even if it is sometimes accompanied by a strangely upbeat tune.

If anything, the musical accompaniment makes the thought burrow deeper, pry harder, at the optimism he is determined to maintain.

He’s not expecting the dog to answer his rambling monologue, since he hasn’t cracked up entirely. 

Then again, the dog seems at least as smart as Makkachin, and Makkachin would interject her opinion into his monologues, cutting into his rambling with a soft woof or rather pointedly jabbing her nose into his side if he got too distracted. The dog offers no such opinion as it ambles along just ahead of him, tail swaying with its walk. 

Except for the way the dog keeps track of Viktor's progress they could almost be travelling entirely separately. A tilt of the head to ensure Viktor stays within sight, an anxious twitch of the ears if Viktor's pause between topics goes on too long and soft, liquid eyes, begging for scraps when Viktor eats his lunch while they walk reveals the dog's ongoing attention. 

The sun has sunk low in the sky again by the time they crest a small rise and spy the tall Warding stones in the distance. It’s with a bounce in his step that Viktor walks ever closer to the Rest Stop. He’s just contemplating his possible options for their dinner when the dog darts off into the forest.

Viktor hadn’t even realised he was smiling until he stops, staring off in the direction the dog has disappeared. He dully wonders if it was something he’d said. Not that it matters, since the dog is gone either way.

The seemingly short distance to the Rest Stop appears to be a lot further that it was a heartbeat ago. He manages to force himself to keep moving and get there anyway, because he’s not going to sleep outside its protections just because he’s feeling disappointed. 

Dumping his bag next to a Warding stone, he slumps against it. 

Gods, how stupid could he be to get attached to a dog that he knows nothing about.

He travelled with the dog for less than a day, and managed to delude himself into thinking it might stick around.

The dog isn’t Makkachin. After all, Makkachin would never abandon Viktor for a jaunt about a creepy forest.

Then again, he hasn’t seen Makkachin in over a year. Maybe she’s forgotten all about him. He’d asked Yakov to look after her, and despite all his bluster, Yakov is a complete pushover who probably spoils her rotten.

Biting his lip, Viktor tries to imagine the fit Yakov would throw if he could see Viktor now. According to Yakov, a knight was a wall of steel without emotions. 

(Not that Yakov lived by his own teachings.)

Viktor takes a deep breath, allowing himself the length of his exhale to gain control of his hurt feelings. There’s most of a lizard to reheat after all.

Getting on with it, his emotions don’t fade so much as get squashed under frustration as he pokes at the fire trying to get the wood to take. He may or may not be contemplating throwing a tantrum at the uncooperative fire when there’s a quiet bark and the damn dog comes trotting out of the forest, as happy as can be. It prances right up to Viktor and drops its mouthful at his feet. Viktor stares at in disbelief.

When he doesn’t move to pick up its offering, the dog barks again, more sharply than its earlier greeting, obviously impatient with his lack of action. Managing to tear his gaze away from the dog, Viktor's mouth falls open as he looks at what he has been presented with. Rabbits. Two whole rabbits are lying at his feet.

The dog sits proudly in front of him, chest practically puffed up with how pleased it is with itself.

“Right,” Viktor says, clearing his throat, “if we’re doing a reciprocal dinner thing you need a better name than Mr Stalker. What do you think of Killer?” The dog growls in clear disapproval, but Viktor is already shaking his head. "No. You’re right. That doesn’t suit you at all. What about Rex?” Growl. “Spot?” The clearly unspotted dog growls again. “It’s ironic,” Viktor defends himself. “Like calling a bird Fish.” 

The dog seems to give up on Viktor’s ability to come up with an acceptable name and tries to take back the rabbits. Viktor is quick to snatch both of them away from the dog’s jaws.

“Fine. Dinner first,” Viktor says quickly. “We can work on the name thing later.”

Of course, the fire he’d struggled so hard with has gone out, and he has to start from scratch. The dog seems to wince at every new attempt Viktor makes at lighting the fire, and he finds himself laughing, his earlier frustration completely absent even though it takes him eight attempts to get the fire relit. 

Surprisingly, the dog turns its nose up when he offers it one of the freshly-skinned rabbits. It nudges the offered meat towards the fire. Blinking slowly, Viktor pulls the rabbit meat away from the dog and adds it to a skewer beside his own.

The dog sighs in an entirely satisfied way.

“Gourmet all the way, right?” Viktor murmurs as he studies the dog.

He knew the dog was unusual, but it’s seemingly getting stranger with every interaction. Misrethog is full of strange animals, but the differences are usually readily apparent. An extra head, a tail that doubles as a projectile knife, perhaps a razor sharp glass exoskeleton. Yet the plain-looking dog in front of him may be just as strange as all the other odd creatures he’s encountered. 

He stares at it suspiciously. “You’re not a Witch’s familiar by any chance?”

The dog stops moving. Viktor almost can’t believe his eye, but it actually freezes in place for a moment and then flops on its side, tail thumping.

“Aha,” Viktor says poking at the rabbits, “if that’s the way you want to play it. Guess you still need a name either way.”

The dog continues to pretend to be a completely normal animal under his gaze, its act virtually screaming ‘nothing to see here’. 

He throws a few more names at the dog, keeping a careful eye on how it reacts. As the smell of roasting rabbit meat wafts outwards, the dog sits back up, gaze fixed intently on the skewers of meat. There’s not even a twitch at his latest name suggestion of Rebus. Figuring he’s lost the dog’s attention, Viktor sing-songs Rebus a few more times, trying to make it stick. On the third repetition the dog turns its eyes away from the rabbits to look at him, lips curled back to bare its teeth. 

The dog really isn’t very good at pretending to be a normal dog.

Viktor quickly holds up his hands in surrender. “I’ll keep thinking about it.” Pity, he’d thought that the Muscovian name was fitting for the puzzling animal.

Still, it practically lunges for the cooked meat when Viktor pulls the skewers from the fire and he has to juggle them awkwardly to keep them out of its reach.

“You’ll regret it if you don’t wait for it to cool,” he admonishes, though it also acts as reminder to himself. The meat smells mouth-wateringly good.

With the scent tempting him, his impatience gets the better of him. To be fair he also throws the dog its fair share, and they both tear into the slightly-too-hot, succulent meat.

When the last bite is gone, he almost moans in disappointment. Even though he’s full, he’d love just a few more mouthfuls. The dog takes a little longer, gnawing at the bones before it flops over, belly taut and round.

With a full belly of his own, Viktor would like to follow suit, except he has to heave himself to his feet to get his bedroll ready and bank the fire.

Crawling into his bedding, belly satisfied and something approaching happy, he thinks it might be the most content he’s been since he sent his fellow Knights back to Muscovy. Yet even in the haze of food and warmth, there's a small thought niggling at him, wondering if he'll wake up alone again in the morning. 

Slitting his eye open, he looks at the dog, brown fur highlighted in shades of red and orange from the light thrown by the fire. It's curled in a ball, nose tucked into the curve of its stomach.

He closes his eye. Unless he wants to try to pin the dog down while it sleeps, there's nothing he can do to change what the dog's going to do. He'll just have to cope with whatever he finds in the morning. All he can do is hope...

The heaviness of sleep settles on his limbs swiftly. Before he sinks completely under, he thinks he feels a warm weight settle against his back.

He’s completely out before he can work out if he’s imagining it or not.

* * *

_His body is one long drawn out wail of pain, agony jangling at his every nerve._

_‘Death, please,’ is his first somewhat coherent thought, followed by a more immediate ‘DEATH NOW, PLEASE,’ when new agony blasts along his nerves. The pain is all encompassing and utterly consuming. Surely, his body is an optional extra that he can do without? Anything to escape his complete and utter bodily misery._

_It’s only when the pain dies down and narrows to merely a spike driving deep into his brain that he can discern anything apart from his own sensitised nerves. There’s solid ground beneath him, dirt sliding between the involuntary twitch of his fingers. His breath rasps in his throat._

_Too fast and too shallow._

_By all the gods, maybe he really_ is _dying._

_But no, he can’t kick the bucket right now._

_Someone is cursing him, throwing imprecations against Viktor and all of his ancestors, in a tone utterly familiar from his long-time knowledge of Yakov’s opinion on Viktor’s stupidity._

_It’s ingrained into him, after years upon years of Yakov’s tutelage, to try to respond. If Yakov is cursing Viktor’s character, Viktor will have the last word._

_Sitting up to retaliate, however, proves extremely difficult. There’s hard pressure pushing down on his chest. Weighted and immovable to his struggles. At the unexpected intervention, he forces his eyes open. Light strikes a new chord of agony in his brain, and he blinks to try and clear the tears from his sight._

_Contrary to what he expected, there’s no looming figure of Yakov in sight. There's just Mila, her usually brilliant red hair dull with sweat, cursing him out. He should remember to tease Yakov about corrupting such a Noble Lady later, not that anyone would mistake her as such right now, streaked with blood and dirt and looking prepared to commit murder._

_It’s her gauntlet-covered hands holding him down, possibly breaking some ribs in the process._

_“Don’t move, you idiot,” she snarls when she notices him looking._

_“Defend... Honour,” Viktor pants, entirely reasonably._

_Mila bares her teeth in reply. “You move. I kill you. Worse, I’ll tell all of Muscovy that their much-loved Knight Captain died by tripping and stabbing himself. Understand?”_

_“Yes,” he rasps, very carefully not nodding. Mila doesn’t tend to make idle threats. Quite a few noble sons had learnt this the hard way._

_The pressure Mila is maintaining on his chest lets up a little, reducing the creaking of his ribcage and allowing him to breathe more easily. Despite this, she goes right back to cursing him. Then again, she’s not actively spitting vitriol in his face, so she may just be cursing the world in general._

_It is right about then that Viktor realises his vision is strangely monocular. His sight is a mere portion of what it should be. His right eye blinks and moves as he thinks it. His left eye...does he still have a left eye?_

_Eye rolling in alarm he notices Georgi and his warmly lit palm glowing above the crown of Viktor’s head. The sight of him sets Viktor’s heart stuttering with a new wave of worries._

_Georgi is never the definition of calm and collected, but it’s usually drama for its own sake that makes him seem constantly perturbed. Viktor has never seen Georgi look this distressed, not even in the middle of battle. He’s pale, sweat dripping from his face, practically swaying with exhaustion. His face is tense with strain, his lip bitten to the point that it’s begun to bleed. The glow from his hand flickers and returns in pulses, Georgi obviously fighting to keep it going from one second to the next._

_As Viktor has seen Georgi help kill an entire den of horned crawlers, and heal half a dozen men of near-mortal wounds before completing a full guard Ward, while still having the energy left over to celebrate late into the night, his struggle is worrying. The fact that his struggle seems to coincide with his ongoing treatment of Viktor edges towards disturbing._

_What is going on?_

_He can’t remember how they got here, what happened, or even where 'here' is._

_The glow from Georgi’s hands blazes pure white for a moment, and pain strikes Viktor hard. His body involuntarily spasms, hips rising off the ground as he tries to escape it, while Mila’s weight comes down heavy on top of him to try and pin him down. It’s all he can do not to scream, teeth biting sharply into his lip to hold back his cries._

_It goes on and on and when oblivion slams into him, he embraces it gratefully._

X-x-X-x-X


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I really shouldn't make plans for updating because then I get very disappointed with myself when I fail to meet that deadline rather than just being happy I've managed to post anything at all...
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos. Really brightens my day and encourages me to get myself in gear to finish the edits on the next chapter.

Viktor’s dreams are often strange. Yakov’s bright purple head floating by shouting instructions while he fights a dragon completely naked has been a particularly horrifying reoccurring nightmare for many years. But he’s never had a nightmare about being crushed under his armour before. He gasps himself awake with a wheezing breath.

The cause of the nightmare becomes apparent when he opens his eye to find he’s being used as a mattress by a large dog.

His attempt to speak ends in a strangled wheeze. Since the option of a polite request is denied to him by his inability to breathe, he shoves the dog off him as carefully as he can. The dog may not agree with the 'careful' descriptor as it flips off him awkwardly, looking utterly startled.

It looks completely ridiculous, and Viktor can’t help but to laugh. The dog huffs and turns away in clear affront.

“Oh don’t be offended. You’d laugh too,” Viktor says, and reaches out to rough up the dog’s fur.

The dog freezes under his touch, and Viktor freezes, too. He’s suddenly quite worried about the longevity of his fingers. It would be damn humiliating to have his arm mauled due to such simple stupidity.

Slowly, quite deliberately, the dog relaxes under his hand and its tail wags slowly. Viktor is quick to take advantage, gently patting the dog’s head before it can change its mind. 

When he removes his hand, the dog essentially flees, running to the far side of the Rest Stop. Viktor leaves it be as he tidies up the camp. 

Everyone is allowed their own quirks.

He still adds it to his growing list of strange things about the dog.

Taking a quick look at his compass, Viktor finds the needle unmoving, still pointing northwards.

“All right, as-of-yet-unnamed dog, are you coming with me today?” Viktor asks as he hauls his bag onto his shoulder.

The dog keeps a careful eye on him but deigns to come closer, so that they’re walking almost side-by-side as they continue their journey north.

With the sky in the Misrethog region so frequently overcast, it’s not a very good indicator of impending weather. Nonetheless, Viktor _probably_ should have noticed the storm before it drops a bucketful of water on his head.

Swearing fiercely, he digs out oiled leathers to throw over his clothes. Not that it really helps much, as he’s soaking wet already. Strands of his hair cling to his face, and he irritably tries to push them back.

It’s a miserable walk. Even the dog seems miserable, having given up on shaking off water after the fifth attempt. There’s probably some decent cover to be found in the forest, but being a little less wet is not worth courting death.

Gradually, the downpour slackens and eventually lets up entirely, the sun peeking out from between the clouds.

Viktor shakes off his leathers and returns them to his bag. He’s not sure whether it's an accident that the dog manages to catch him in the hemisphere of water it shakes from its coat or not. Making outraged noises in the dog’s direction he’s pleased to note that at least it looks a little shamefaced for its transgression.

Here he was, thinking it was going to be a good day, and now he’s sopping wet and sporting the ever so pleasing aroma of wet dog.

Still, they’re _both_ wet and miserable. The dog's body seems to droop with the weight of the water remaining in its fur. Viktor is unpleasantly soggy, his boots making an unpleasant squelching sound with each step and his pants chafing slightly where they’re sticking to him. He’s envious of the dog’s clothes-free attire, and tells it so.

“You’re really pulling off that wet-dog chic. Do you think I’d suit clothes-free walking attire?” He tries to flick his hair sassily, but the wets strands just smack into his face and cling. He sputters for a few moments, as he has to spit a few strands out of his mouth.

The dog doesn’t seem to care for his suggestion, loping ahead to put a few body lengths between them.

Although he wasn’t seriously considering stripping, since there was no way he was willing to remove his armour outside the safety of a Rest Stop, the dog’s attitude makes it hard to resist teasing it a little. 

He quickens his pace to catch up with the dog, unbuckling his belt and laying it over its back.

The dog’s horrified look is worth almost tripping over the ends of his pants. Laughing, Viktor reclaims his belt before the dog can shake it off into one of the many mud puddles on the road.

“I’ll have you know that I have a gorgeous body that is a privilege to see. There’s no reason anyone should be horrified to see me naked.” Ears twitching back and forth a few times, the dog slows down so it's no longer trying to outpace Viktor. He guesses he’ll take that as an apology

“Thank you,” Viktor says cheerily. “I accept your apology for implying that it would be awful to see me naked.”

The dog stares at him flatly, but its tail swishes back and forth, so its amusement must outweigh whatever attitude it’s trying to convey.

With the dark clouds overhead, the daylight seems to disappear much earlier than usual, and Viktor spots the next Rest Stop ahead by the sight of leaping flames.

While Rest Stops are generally safe, they can provide the ideal spots for smart bandit groups to stake out travellers to target. Travelling by himself, Viktor’s a prime target for any such group, even if most of what he carries doesn’t appear to be worth much.

Of course, the Rest Stop Wards won’t protect Viktor from just plain awful human beings. 

He approaches the Rest Stop cautiously, the dog matching his pace. His ears strain to pick up any possible clue from the laughing voices he can hear as he scopes out the line of wagons for more information. He squints at the faded writing on the side of the lead wagon. Written languages are unfortunately beyond the scope of his translation spell, but he doesn’t recognise any of the symbols as being part of the local writing system, either.

No hint as to what sort of group he’s walking towards.

His hand wants to hover above his sword, but that would be a bad first impression to make on a group of people he isn’t trying to intimidate. The dog picks up on his unease; it stalks along beside him with its head low, looking far from the placid beast that has plodded along beside him the past couple of days and more like the animal that tore the throat out of the reav.

The loud voices of the traveller’s occupying the Rest Stop reach a crescendo, and he can make out the joyful shrieking of children. Booming shouts ring out, presumably from the children’s mothers.

A little of the tension eases out of his shoulders. With children along for the ride, it’s much less likely — though not impossible— that the group in front of him are bunch of well-disguised bandits.

They’re within easy sight of the Rest Stop, able to make out people’s shadows flitting through the gaps between wagons. Viktor stops, laying a hand on the dog’s back to make sure it follows suit.

“Hello?” he shouts, watching carefully. “Room for another weary traveller to join you?”

There’s a lull in the noise from the Rest Stop, and Viktor can see at least a dozen eyes peering around the body of the wagons. A few step past the wagon, most of them visibly armed.

The only show of tension he allows is his hand clenching in the dog’s fur, ready to urge it to flee if necessary. As the people continue to watch them, he shifts his weight towards the balls of his feet, the better for his own escape.

He’s just about ready to consider this entire endeavour a mistake when a large man steps past the line of wagons, and most of those who were armed return back into the circle.

The man approaches them, arm waving in greeting. “Welcome, welcome! Please feel free to join us this fine evening,” he calls when he is a short distance away. His voice is loud, but warm, matched by the large grin that becomes visible as he gets closer.

The man is taller than Viktor, brown hair only a few shades darker than his skin. He holds out a hand for Viktor to shake, muscles bulging in his arm as he does so. The actual handshake is firm, without being a test of strength. 

Viktor takes a cautious liking to him, and dog seems to as well, since its tail wags slowly. Viktor lifts his hand from the dog’s back.

“I’m Ramon, the person in charge of this unruly lot. They think a full day’s journey entitles them to a grand celebration,” Ramon says mockingly, voice just loud enough to be overheard by his own people. There are a few playful jeers in reply from just beyond the wagons.

Ramon’s smile is largely amused, even as he shrugs and shakes his head ruefully in response, inviting Viktor‘s own amusement.

“I’m Viktor,” he says returning that smile, “wandering swordsman.”

Interestingly, Ramon turns to the dog, “And your friend?”

“My travelling companion, uh.” The dog bumps his leg when he hesitates too long, “Buddy.” The name trips off his tongue as he throws out the first word that comes to mind.

The dog, newly named Buddy, stares heavily at Viktor for a long moment, making him wonder if the name somehow offends it. Then it huffs and leaves Viktor’s side to go and sniff at Ramon.

If Ramon finds anything strange about the interaction he doesn’t let on as he laughingly holds out his hand for the dog’s inspection. Clearly, Ramon passes his inspection, since Buddy sits down, tail wagging, and allows Ramon to pet his head.

It took almost two days for the dog to get near enough for Viktor to touch him, but Ramon has received the dog’s blessing within moments of meeting. What has the merchant got that he doesn’t?

Viktor’s best clue to Buddy’s agreeable behaviour is when the dog raises its nose in the air and starts looking intently eager to get inside the circle of wagons. When Ramon leads them past the outer wagon, Viktor starts to smell it, too. The scent of a gourmet stew, rife with spices and herbs, wafts on the breeze so thick that he can practically taste it already.

Still...

“So my lizard legs weren’t worth a proper greeting?” Viktor hisses at Buddy. The dog’s tail wags madly, which doesn’t excuse that sort of prejudiced behaviour. “Should have called you Piggy, huh?

Ramon ignores their byplay, leading them amongst the wagons and throwing names at them as they pass each new person in the group. Viktor nods and smiles and shakes every hand offered, and promptly forgets each name as soon as the next person steps up to grip his hand.

It’s just a guess, but there’s something about them that makes him think they’re all probably related to each other in some way. 

Actually, if he takes a moment to peer at the latest individual to offer their hand, he thinks he might have been introduced to this one already. He goes through four more that are gnawingly familiar before he’s introduced to a young woman that he is absolutely certain he’s greeted before. The flashy red stones in her earrings are quite memorable.

He shakes her hand anyway, saying mildly, “Yes, I believe we’ve already been introduced.”

The young woman’s grin becomes a shade wider even as there’s an outbreak of giggles behind him.

“Aw, I bet Matias that he wouldn’t notice anything until we’d been through everyone twice,” one of the group at his back moans.

Looking over his shoulder he sees a small gathering of young men and women watching what has obviously been their entertainment for the last little while. 

Laughing, Ramon claps him on the shoulder and apologises for letting Viktor be used as a sort of youth entertainment. Surprisingly, he adds, “As recompense for entertaining our most troublesome members, let me get you some dry clothes. I can even manage you a place to dry your current ones, I think.”

The dampness of his clothes must have been apparent to Ramon from the brief contact.

Viktor waves off the apology, since it’s not as if Viktor was really all that offended by the group's trick. He's willing to admit he doesn’t have the best memory for names and faces. He also refuses Ramon's offer of clothes, since he has dry clothes of his own in his bag, but takes up the offer of drying space.

Buddy is quick to abandon him when Viktor goes to find a quiet place to change, away from the bustle of Ramon’s people. It takes him a little while to find Buddy when he returns, though when he spots him, he realizes it probably should have been the first place he looked. Buddy is making friends with the group of people in charge of the large pot emitting the heavenly stew aroma. He’s cuddling up besides the youngest cook, eyes large and woeful. 

Viktor’s stomach chooses that moment to growl its appreciation of the smell, causing a smattering of laughter amongst the cooks. 

One of the younger cooks steps forward and takes Viktor’s damp clothes from his hands to drape over the poles they’ve got set up around the fire, joining the many other bits of clothing draped there. He smiles warmly at Viktor as he lays the last piece of Viktor’s clothes out. “We’ve got plenty of food here to feed two more mouths, if you’d like to try some stew."

“Thanks, but we couldn’t possibly put you out like that,” Viktor says awkwardly, horribly upset by the words leaving his mouth. “Buddy and I have some roast lizard to tide us over.”

Proving how very loyal he is to his stomach, Buddy looks at Viktor with large, liquid eyes, and then pointedly turns to sniff at the stew. The oldest cook, a few flyaway strands of grey hair peeking out from where the rest is hidden under a brown scarf, says mildly, “I don’t think your dog wants roast lizard.”

Well, it’s not as if Viktor really wants roast lizard either if that delectable smelling stew is on offer, but it's the polite thing to do.

The woman cackles at Viktor’s expression, shoving a bowl of the stew at him. “There’s few things that taste better than this stew after a day on the road, boy. Don’t let your manners make you miss out.”

Since it seems he can’t refuse, he grips at the bowl tightly, inhaling deeply. Buddy trots over to his side, nudging hopefully at the hand gripping the bowl. He clutches the bowl tighter. “This one’s mine. Turn those woeful eyes on someone else.”

Even as Buddy turns to present his sad eyes to the cooks, the woman is holding out another bowl with a small smile. “There’s plenty to go around. No need for begging.”

Viktor claims Buddy’s bowl of stew as well, using it to lead the dog to a quiet spot away from the fire. Buddy’s paw scrapes impatiently at his leg when Viktor doesn’t set the food down quickly enough for the dog’s liking.

The food is just as delicious as the woman claims, and if the way Buddy is attempting to dredge more out of his empty bowl is any indication, he seems to agree.

Ramon’s caravan is a big group of people, with more than thirty adults and half again as many children. Viktor’s out of the way spot doesn’t remain empty for long, with a couple of other adults choosing to sit nearby. The dinner congregation is a raucous affair which reminds him vaguely of the campfires he used to share with his knights, although he doesn’t remember the food ever tasting as good as this.

Buddy comes over to lean heavily against his side while Viktor finishes the remainder of his stew, an obvious ploy for Viktor’s scraps. He gives in, since, no matter how tempting, it still is more than a little undignified to stick his face in the bowl to lick it clean. Buddy has no such qualms and pounces on the bowl as soon as it’s put on the ground.

With Buddy’s slurping enjoyment in the background, Viktor takes the opportunity to ask the nearby merchants about the road ahead. They’re happy enough to answer his questions, laughingly describing their encounter with a half-naked man at the gates of Pasenn that had almost caused their journey to be delayed.

The lack of information about animal attacks worries him. The only news they have to report about Pasenn is that the place is apparently abuzz with news of a scandal that involves the Mayor’s daughter escaping from her lover’s angry father by riding the man’s prized pig. In a place like Pasenn, the scandal is probably big news, but that shouldn’t stop people talking about the attacks that led to the rumours Viktor heard in Zoiga.

Buddy ends up following him when Viktor gets up to question a few of the other merchants, but no one can tell him anything different. It leaves him feeling on edge, even though there's nothing he can do about it until he reaches Pasenn. Hopefully there's a simple explanation for why the story of animal attacks to have disappeared so thoroughly. Thankfully, there's a distraction from the worry prickling at his skin close at hand.

During their wandering, they've gained a following, comprised of most of the younger children. They pester Viktor with questions about all the things he’s killed, and since there are too many things to list and it’s probably not appropriate to describe most of the encounters to anyone under the age of eighteen, he answers them in vague terms. After all, it's bad manners to terrify other people’s children without permission. However, with the way their eyes slip to the side it’s obvious that Buddy is the main attraction for the children. 

He hides a chuckle behind his hand as one boy reluctantly asks about his most recent kill, while staring with deep longing at Buddy.

Eventually the oldest girl plucks up the courage to ask him “Can we pet your dog, Mr Viktor?”

“Pweease!” one of the younger boy pipes up, face scrunched with desperate longing. 

Viktor looks to Buddy for a response. The dog’s seemed happy enough to allow people to touch him tonight, even deigning to allow Viktor to do so, but who knows what sort of trauma Buddy has previously encountered. 

Buddy returns Viktor’s stare and his head tilts sideways, ears drooping so he looks awkwardly unsure. Well, it seems like Viktor will have a group of desperately unhappy children on his hands. 

Then Buddy lies down and puts his head on his paws, tail thumping, clearly signalling his permission.

Viktor gives him a moment to change his mind, but Buddy continues to wag his tail so Viktor turns to look at the children, who are nearly vibrating with yearning. “All right, but be gentle,” he says sternly.

They nod solemnly, as only children ever manage, but gather around Buddy eagerly to gently run their hands over his fur.

One of the nearby women, who’d watched the entire exchange, catches Viktor’s eye. “That’s a mighty strange dog you’ve got.”

As the last time that Viktor had brought this up, Buddy had (poorly) tried to pretend to be a completely normal dog, Viktor could only shrug in reply. Buddy is proving to be increasingly strange, but while wandering the Misrethog region Viktor has come across a lot of weird things, all of which were a hell of a lot meaner than Buddy. So far, Buddy has only shown designs on Viktor’s dinner, not plans for making Viktor his dinner.

“Where’d you get him? What’s his breed?” she asks intently. 

Buddy gives an all-body twitch, which he manages to transform into a full-body shake halfway through.

Viktor’s pretty sure by this point that Buddy is probably someone’s familiar, too smart and personable to be anything else. But that’s none of this woman’s business. As long as Buddy isn’t dangerous to anyone, that’s all that should matter to the woman. He’s Viktor’s travelling companion and Viktor doesn’t need to know more than that, doesn’t need to know what Buddy’s story is. Buddy could be green with purple polka dots, for all he cares. 

“From a friend of mine in Shesho,” Viktor says smiling politely while lying through his teeth. “He’s a bitsa.”

“Hmm.” The woman studies Buddy for a few moments longer, and Buddy’s continuing twitchiness makes it clear he's all too aware of her scrutiny. Thankfully, she wanders off before Viktor has to work out how to make her leave without causing a fuss over the fact that she appears to be making his dog uncomfortable.

Viktor keeps an eye on her as she goes, but apart from one last look in their direction she seems to have lost interest in them, settling amongst a group of people still eating with her own bowl of stew.

Buddy settles down again once the woman is gone, but soon loses his group of personal groomers as their parents arrive to force them off to bed. For all that he’s just been showered with affection, Buddy looks like he’s endured something of a hardship, and appears thoroughly worn-out. The dog peeks at him with a barely there head tilt seemingly looking for sympathy.

“You could have refused,” Viktor tells him unsympathetically, trying to hold back a smile at how ridiculous the animal is. “Don’t pretend like someone forced you into it.”

Buddy huffs, turning his head away from Viktor.

He can’t help but laugh aloud at that, and ruffles a hand through the fur on Buddy's back. Buddy continues to ignore Viktor, though his spine presses ever so slightly back against Viktor's palm.

With the appearance of large jugs being passed around, it looks like the adults of Ramon’s caravan are just starting their night. It would be nice to be able to indulge, but Viktor will have to be able to walk on his own two feet tomorrow, since he doesn’t have an accompanying wagon.

He feels the creak of his spine as he stands. Nudging at Buddy gently with his knee, he goes in search of a quiet, unoccupied space to sleep within the confines of the Rest Stop. Buddy follows quietly at his heels.

He ends up unrolling his bedroll near the edge of the area’s Wards, beside the rear wheel of one of the wagons. It’s chilly without the proximity of the campfire that he’s used to. He nestles his sword within his blankets and tangles his bag strap around his arm as he crawls into his bedding. The dog watches all this rather intently, and Viktor feels judged.

“It’s a precaution,” he grumbles. “I’m sure they’re just as lovely as they seem, but just in case...” He flicks his fingers against the hilt of his sword, letting his words trail off.

Buddy sniffs, a rather extraordinary sound from a dog, but decides to flop down on his belly beside Viktor anyway.

“Aww, I knew you loved me best,” Viktor says with a grin, “but try to remember not to use me as a mattress tonight, yeah?”

Buddy grumbles and twists onto his side so his back is to Viktor.

“Rude,” Viktor complains, still smiling.

When Buddy ignores him, he tries to settle himself more comfortably in his blankets. His toes clench and flex in his socks as he tries to get warm enough to be able to sleep. He stares up at the dark night sky, where a small sliver of the moon is illuminating a patch of the cloud cover, and holds back the shiver that tries to shake through his limbs.

With a subtle shift of his body, which could be entirely incidental, though Viktor is guessing it isn't, Buddy presses his spine against Viktor’s side. Slowly, the pressure turns into a line of warmth.

Hunkering down further into his blankets, Viktor curls into the band of heat. Despite the bawdy songs some of the now-drunk merchants have begun to sing, he’s asleep within moments

X-x-X-x-X

Because the merchants are awake and moving at first light, so is Viktor. Buddy too, but he seems kind of grumpy about it. That’s how Viktor is interpreting his refusal to wag his tail, anyway.

The merchants are quick and efficient at packing their things back into their wagons, so Viktor goes to retrieve his clothes from beside the fire before they get packed alongside the merchants’ other gear. Thankfully, they’re dry, though they smell a little more strongly of smoke than usual.

Since the merchants are so well-practiced at getting an early start, their wagons are rolling away from the Rest Stop by the time the sun peeks over the horizon, Ramon waving them a cheery goodbye.

It’s cool enough that every breath results in a puff of fog appearing in front of his face, and Viktor forgoes his usual morning routine, heading instead for the road with his breakfast in hand. 

“All right, Buddy, let’s hit the road,” he says expecting Buddy to fall into step beside him. Instead, the dog plants its butt on the ground and just stares at him.

Maybe the dog has a strict food-before-travel routine. If that’s the case, it’s a problem fairly easily solved.

“Here you go, Buddy, dried meat and stale bread. Breakfast of Champions,” he holds the items out for Buddy’s perusal, but Buddy doesn’t even bother to sniff them, his head turning sharply away.

Viktor sniffs them, but can’t smell anything particularly off about them. He’s probably a little lax about these things sometimes, but he did learn after the three-week-old cheese incident that kept him holed up in a Gaida inn for days. 

Actually, he probably still has some cheese. He digs through his bag to check, but comes up empty-handed.

“Sorry, Buddy, looks like this is all I have.”

Strangely Buddy turns his head away again though Viktor isn’t actually offering him anything. 

“Fine!” Viktor throws up his hands. “You can have the remaining roast lizard if you want it that badly, Buddy.”

Except, rather than looking pleased at getting Viktor to offer his lunch, Buddy’s gives Viktor the back of his head to look at.

“ You’re not doing a very good job at passing for an ordinary dog, right now,” Viktor grumps, half expecting that Buddy will react to his words with the dog’s usual poor acting. However, the dog doesn’t react at all.

“Hey, Buddy,” Viktor says hesitantly, walking around the dog so he can see Buddy’s face.

The dog shifts so Viktor is looking at the back of his head again.

“What’s wrong, Buddy?” Viktor calls, not trying to move around the dog this time, but this garners an even worse reaction. Buddy darts away, putting distance between them before sitting back down, still facing away from Viktor.

“Come on,” Viktor complains, frowning at the dog’s back. Whatever consternation he feels doesn’t stop him from approaching the dog and laying a hand gently on his back. “Have I done something to offend you or something, Buddy?”

Buddy’s ears perk up and then stiffen at Viktor’s question, and he then proceeds to lope away from Viktor.

“Really?” Viktor asks, looking up at the overcast sky before throwing off his bag and giving chase.

It’s not really like a race so much as a game of tag, as Buddy darts this way and that around the Rest Stop, staying just out of Viktor’s reach. If this were a serious chase, there is no way that Viktor would be able to keep up with, let alone catch, the dog. Buddy is ducking Viktor’s hands by a hair rather than actually staying well out of Viktor’s arm reach as the dog is more than capable of. So, he's grumpy, but not really trying to get away. As such, Viktor feels little qualm about essentially throwing himself at the dog so that he can get to the bottom of the problem. Luckily, the dog stands for it, or Viktor would have face-planted in the dirt.

While Viktor would have preferred to let their game of tag wear out whatever bad feeling Buddy currently has, Viktor is not well suited to scrambling madly after a dog. Short sprints combined with sharp turns are incredibly bad for his knees, and even though he put an end to the not-quite-game fairly quickly, his chest is heaving as he fights for breath. 

He’s not even in his full armour, for gods’ sake, just some light leathers enchanted to provide protection. Yakov would be appalled at how Viktor has let his condition deteriorate during his time in the Misrethog. Hell, _Viktor_ is appalled. He’s going to have to fit some basic muscle and aerobics training into his daily routine.

( _Ugh._ )

Buddy is still studiously ignoring Viktor, which is pretty neat, considering Viktor is basically hugging the dog to ensure it doesn’t make another run for it.

“Look,” Viktor pants, gripping tightly at Buddy’s scruff. He pauses, gulping in a few deep breaths so he can actually say what he wants to without a breath between each word. “I don’t know what has upset you, but I’m sure we can reach a solution without too much drama.” He makes a face at his choice of words. “Too much more drama. We’re both fairly reasonable beings, aren’t we, Buddy?”

Wrong choice of word or something, there. Buddy tenses in Viktor’s hold, ears flat against the side of his head.

“Buddy?” Viktor says cautiously.

Oh, wow, Buddy would absolutely have bolted by now if Viktor’s hold was any less secure. At least that seems to answer what’s got Buddy so upset. He’s inclined to laugh incredulously, but that will probably get him in more trouble than he already seems to be in.

“So you don’t like the name, huh?” Viktor starts and Buddy finally turns to looks at him. “If you really had a problem with it you could have spoken up sooner.”

That gets a sharp bark in reply, and Viktor smiles. “Yeah, just like that.”

The dog, who it seems he may no longer call Buddy, is giving him the evil eye.

“Look, uh, dog, it was a spur-of-the-moment naming for the purpose of Ramon’s merchants, and I know I didn’t get your agreement beforehand so I don’t have to call you Buddy if you don’t want me to. But-,” Viktor says, and releases the dog. Thankfully, the dog doesn’t immediately take off, shifting slightly so it’s no longer under Viktor. “But, Buddy is really as much of a description as a name. You’re my travel buddy.”

Ears’ twitching slightly, the dog leans towards him just a little, so that Viktor can feel the barest brush of fur against his bare forearm.

"I'd really like to remember you as something more than just the dog who kept my company," Viktor says earnestly, thankful when the dog doesn't react negatively to the statement. "You don't like any of the names I suggest..." he pauses, thinking about all the dog's oddities, "...since you probably already have a name?" Viktor asks hesitantly, and the dog looks away from him to stare towards the ground. "I don't think I'm going to be able to guess what it is. Not even with all the clues you've ever so helpfully not given me."

The dog snorts at that, and Viktor can’t help the fond smile that steals across his lips.

“Unless you’d like to tell me your preferred name, I’d really appreciate it if I can call you something other than dog. Buddy or otherwise. What do you say?” 

Raising its head from the study of the road, the dog looks at Viktor and woofs softly.

“So shall I try to come up with a different name?” Viktor asks, with a gently mocking twist to his smile. “I have lots more names on my list I haven’t tried yet. Like Bark.”

The dog just stares at him, apparently not a fan.

“Buddy, then?”

The dog huffs, looking very hard done by, but after a few moments contemplating what other names Viktor might suggest, its tail begins to wag slowly.

Wanting to do this right, Viktor holds out his hand and says, “Hi, Buddy, I’m looking forward to travelling with you.”

Buddy rolls his eyes at him, but puts his paw in Viktor’s hand anyway.

Grinning, Viktor stands up and pats the dust off his pants. “Good decision. My next suggestion was either going to be Rabbit or Tiktikkitiktik.”

Buddy’s ears flatten in response, and Viktor laughs as he heads for the road ready to actually get a start on their day of travel but Buddy still doesn’t follow him, and instead he barks sharply at Viktor’s back.

“I thought we resolved all our problems. What’s wrong now?” Viktor says as he turns around, hands settling on his hips.

The dog is standing beside Viktor’s bag looking expectantly between Viktor and it. Right, Viktor probably shouldn’t leave that behind.

“Thanks,” he says warmly as he retrieves his bag, petting the dog gently on the head.

This time, when he heads for the road, Buddy falls into step beside him.

A little while down the road, when he thinks enough time has passed, Viktor says casually, “I told you I was good at naming things. I can’t believe you ever doubted that I’d find the perfect name for you.”

Buddy chooses to reward that comment with a hard nudge to the side of Viktor’s leg.

* * *

_Dry-mouthed and extremely uncomfortable, Viktor realises that he’s awake, and miserable for it. In the process of waking, he opens his eyes and regrets it immediately, as the action reacquaints him with some of his earlier pain. He groans, curling in on himself to try to protect himself from the hammers working at his skull._

_Momentary warmth on his forehead coincides with a decrease in pain. There’s the soft murmur of voices above him, and the sound of retreating footsteps. Despite whatever Yakov likes to say, Viktor is indeed familiar with the structures of good manners, and it’s only proper to thank his saviour. His second attempt at opening his eyes goes a lot better, except that Yakov’s scowling face is the first thing he sees. He immediately slams his eye shut._

_“I can yell at you with your eye open or shut, you ridiculous fool,” Yakov growls._

_“You’re not supposed to yell at injured people,” Viktor says opening his eye, while reaching up to test the pressure he feels around his left eye. What is Yakov even doing here? He’s supposed to be bowing and scraping to the courtiers of Muscovy’s royal court. Maybe Viktor’s caught in a particularly vivid nightmare._

_Slapping Viktor’s hand away before it can reach its destination, Yakov attempts to glare Viktor into compliance. “Don’t touch that! Georgi hasn’t finished working on it and you’re liable to kill yourself if you disturb it. Also, I’ll yell at whoever I damn well please, especially when it’s my most troublesome knight.”_

_If he touches his eye, he might die._

_That’s possibly just a teensie, tiny, little bit worrying. Better to focus on other things._

_The sting of the slap combined with his overall feeling of bodily misery makes him decide that it’s probably not all in his head and that Yakov is actually here. There’s an unfamiliar ceiling above him and a soft mattress beneath him. It’s definitely an improvement on the hard ground he remembers from the last time he was conscious, but doesn’t really help him piece together what is going on._

_“What sort of expedition are you even running here that it’s common enough for you to miss your assigned watch that the knights think nothing of it and don’t notice there’s anything wrong until morning?” Yakov glares at him, obviously expecting Viktor to answer, but all this is doing is adding to Viktor’s confusion about events_

_While he_ has _been taking the time to enjoy himself while surveying Misrethog, he hasn’t once been so irresponsible as to actually shirk his duties, especially those that ensure he and his fellow knights’ safety. As fun as it would be to try and defend himself when he has so little idea about what’s going on, Viktor should probably try and get some answers._

_“What happened? What are you doing here? How are you here?”_

_“There’s been a great magical breakthrough in Muscovy that allows people to be transported instantly from one place to the next in mere moments, even when the destination is on the other side of the continent,” Yakov says snidely, seemingly choosing to answer what is probably the least important question that Viktor posed to him._

_At Viktor’s wide-eyed look, Yakov snorts derisively. “I arrived on a horse, just like you did. Mila sent for me when she wasn’t sure Georgi was going to be able to prevent your death. Luckily, I was at my Estate when the message arrived, so it was only a few days' hard ride to get here, rather than a whole fortnight’s travel.”_

_“Lovely to see you, as always,” Viktor returns sarcastically._

_Yakov sighs, deep and heavy with emotion. “How you manage to get yourself into these situations, I don’t know. I knew you’d be trouble when your father introduced us. I should have refused to take you as my squire, then and there, and saved myself all the stress.”_

_“I was the most talented squire you’ve ever had the pleasure of training,” Viktor murmurs, quite familiar with this particular rant from Yakov. As such, he knows exactly how it will play out. “You would never ignore such amazing talent when it’s right in front of you.”_

_“An amazing talent for finding trouble, that’s for sure,” Yakov says, shaking his head. “I’m not sure what sort of trouble you found this time, but it’s left you a right mess.”_

_Really, with the cessation of the earlier pain the only thing of note is whatever has happened to his left eye. He’s been trying not to think too hard about it, but maybe it will stop the worry gnawing at his stomach._

_“My eye?” Yakov has known him so long that the effort to keep the tremble from his voice is obvious, but Viktor has to make the attempt, for his own sense of calm._

_“Still there,” Yakov says quietly, but Viktor’s sigh of relief catches in his throat as Yakov continues, “Not that it will do you much good.” Yakov looks away from Viktor’s stare, hand rubbing at his brow. “Whatever you ran into didn’t do too much physical damage, but they almost managed to take it, and somehow in doing so they’ve laid a curse on the injury. Georgi did what he could before he collapsed from exhaustion, but.” Yakov shrugs._

_“Oh,” Viktor says faintly, not sure how to feel about this. “That bad, huh?”_

_“Don’t panic over losing your good looks yet, you peacock,” Yakov says gruffly. “Georgi will try again when he’s recovered his energy.”_

_“Great,” Viktor replies with a forced smile. “When will that be?”_

_“Whenever he’s damn well rested enough,” Yakov growls with genuine annoyance. “He pushed himself past the point of sense to make sure you’re alive right now. Don’t try to rush him.”_

_How nice to be made to feel guilty for inquiring after news of his potentially-impending death. He widens his eye, trying to look as though the thought had never occurred to him. Then again, he’s not sure how well he can pull off 'innocently wounded' with only one eye. At the very least, his flirting game is going to suffer if people can’t tell if he’s winking or blinking. He tries it out._

_“Stop twitching,” Yakov growls. Well, at least that answers that. Or maybe it’s just Yakov. However, Yakov doesn’t let Viktor distract himself from the currently rather depressing conversation for long. “What do you know of the thing that attacked you?”_

_“As much as you probably,” he says slowly. “Why?”_

_“I can’t be gone from Muscovy for long,” Yakov explains. “I hope to have some of this mess resolved before I leave.”_

_“Right, of course,” Viktor says. He’s not sure that what he remembers will actually help, but he tries anyway, brow furrowed in thought. “We were camped a couple of days outside Kulsuu. I was collecting firewood just outside the Rest Stop and I heard something. A sound I wasn’t expecting?” He puzzles over that thought for a moment. No matter how he comes at it he can’t remember what he heard, just that he wasn’t expecting it._

_“And?” Yakov grunts impatiently._

_“Nothing. Next thing I remember I was in terrible pain and apparently dying while Georgi exhausted himself treating me.”_

_“You don’t remember anything between?”_

_“No,” Viktor says uncertainly._

_Yakov sneers. “Was that a statement or a question?”_

_“No," Viktor repeats, more firmly, an uncomfortable feeling burrowing into his chest. He’d thought his earlier lack of recall might have been due to the horrific pain he was in at the time. But he doesn’t remember anything, no matter how he strains to find the memory. Not what happened, nor how he was hurt._

_Absolutely nothing._

X-x-X-x-X


End file.
